


Team Talon

by Meibel8ter, TheGayExperience



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Crossover, I Ship It, Multi, Overwatch - Freeform, Part 1, Talon - Freeform, Team Talon, Teen Titans - Freeform, hackerkill - Freeform, ships, sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meibel8ter/pseuds/Meibel8ter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGayExperience/pseuds/TheGayExperience
Summary: This is basically a crossover between Talon and the show Teen Titans. This first work takes place on the the episode Fear Itself which is the 18th episode of the old cartoon, I got this idea from a dream and thought why not. Obviously, I had to change a few things up because of the powers and what not but this first chapter is basically how I’m changing things up. This isn’t how the episode starts of course but that’s what makes this a bit different.





	Team Talon

She had never been more horrified of anything in her life. Not even the times when she had wandered into the dark parts of the internet, filled with unspeakable porn and human trafficking had her heart raced quite like it was doing right now. 

 

Being as skilled as she was with sneaking out of bad situations, Sombra’s feet were glued to the ground as the sickly pale woman stomped in the direction of the short Latino, heels clicking furiously against the tiles of the floor. The familiar helmet shaped visor was clutched between her gloved hands, the red circles, like spider eyes, that lined its sides were popped out of place, wires sticking out of the top. The metal covering seemed to be damaged. 

 

"That was meant for Doomfist!" Sombra sputtered out with a thick accent in hopes to save her own precious, caramel colored skin. However, that never stopped Widow’s long legs from their destination, pointed shoes stopping movement as the woman towered over, the current target of her displeasure. She spoke no words and didn’t have to. Her usual emotionless expression was ruled over by a wrinkled forehead and arched up eyebrows, heavy breaths escaping from her doll like nose. 

 

It felt like minutes passed with no words spoken between the two, only the sounds of heavy inhales and exhales from the French woman. There was also the violent clanking of the pitching machine that Sombra had hacked moments ago. 

 

It was just some childish fun, as her purple mixed eyes had spotted her favorite giant fist wielder, (and she couldn’t say she knew a good amount of those, sadly.) He was practicing his combat on the field, something she rarely did, and the small girl thought that it was getting a little too boring. Of course she would have to liven things up.   
That was simply what she did. That was her role in Talon, to spice up everyone’s days, whether it be with her homemade tacos or some good old fashioned mischief. 

 

With a small giggle, Sombra’s wired fingers came up. A panel appeared before them, and she began tapping on its keys quickly. The rather large machine rumbled with discomfort before it started spitting out large baseballs that flew wildly in all directions. The African American man stopped his actions at the noise and turned to dodge whatever happened to be flying his way, which just so happened to be baseballs with familiar purple skulls floating above them. 

 

His reaction was all the same each time, just a sigh of annoyance, but to her it was more then amusing. That was until the two of them heard a bit of commotion from the training course up above. With graceful posture, Widowmaker swung down from the high platforms, her damaged equipment in hand, and now here they were. 

 

Widow leaned her head down slowly, so she was rather close to the small girls ear. “Répare-le, idiot.” Her blue lips whispered to her in a questionable tone. Leaning back, she shoved the broken device into Sombra’s hands before turning quickly on her heels. The tips of her long dark hair slappd against the tan girls cheeks as she did. 

 

With her body now walking in the distance, Sombra let out a sigh of relief, the visor now in her hands, sweat drops drying on the back of her neck from the French whisper that had traveled against her skin. Akande shook his head at the two with an obviously disapproving expression on his face, followed with a grunt while he stretched his neck side to side. Sombra gave him a shrug of betrayal back as he didn’t even try to aid her in the situation with the taller woman, but even he knew better. With another long sigh she turned to head up to her room. 

 

Where she had spent the last four hours trying to repair the stupid headpiece. It was confusing and complicated, and Sombra was too bored to concentrate. Her head was laid on her desk, and the computer was in an inactive state, thanks to lack of her attention. Nonetheless, all of it had been on the visor. One that she hadn’t quite fixed fully... but enough where it should work, or so she thought anyways. 

 

This was good enough for her. After her little rest break, Sombra stood up from the rolling chair, it’s back sporting her usual symbol of a Purple skull. A tank top covered her upper half, and a pair of pajama pants took care of the rest. She wasn’t the most classy when off of the job. 

 

Carefully, she picked widow’s other set of eyes up into her hands and opened her door with her hip. Just as Sombra walked out, a masked figure passed by, which naturally caught her interest. “Hey!” She yelled at him. At the acknowledgment, his shoulders tensed, but he kept his stride in the other direction. 

 

At the blatant disregard, Sombra huffed. She ran until she met his side, fuzzy socks keeping her feet steady as she walked shoulder to elbow (height difference) with the mysterious man. “Sooo, You know where Widow is?” She asked with an arch of her eyebrow, the one that formed anytime she knew she was getting on someone’s nerves. Which was most of the time with Reaper. “No.” He answered simply and with his usual grumble of a voice.

This was normally how they exchanged greetings. Maybe he could smell the mischievous nature that circulated in her blood. Either way, she kept on, firstly cause it was funny, and secondly because she really needed to know where Widow was. The building they all called home was too big to search alone. 

“Well, you don’t seem to be doing anything important. Come on Gabe, help me look.” 

“No.” 

Sombra stopped her aggravating pestering of the secretive male as he walked along the hallway before disappearing Into the darkness of his room. This caused a lightbulb to go off in her head. An idea. A simple solution. 

Maybe she would have learned the first time, but as she now stood in front of Widowmaker’s bedroom door the idea seemed full proof. Her hand rose and sharp nails tapped against the lock on the blue girls door. Just like a magic spell, the door slid open. Luckily Widow wasn’t in there changing clothes or doing anything unfit for eyes. (Unless you like fan art.) 

With quick action, eager to get the hell out of that room, she gently set the helmet on widows desk, the same one all the rooms seemed to share. A bed. A desk. A poor excuse for a closet. That’s where they spent their time when Sombra wasn’t interrupting something, or they weren’t assassinating important leaders. With a casual last look over her shoulder at the woman’s gloomy room, she turned and tapped one fingertip against the keypad, making the door slide back closed like she had never been there in the first place.


End file.
